A SECRET TOLD.
Doctor Winslow was just leaving the room of his patient when he heard a
familiar voice in the lower hall. Hurrying down the wide stairway, he saw
standing near the door Cap'n Ezra with Muriel at his side.
"How's the lad comin'?" the keeper of the light asked eagerly, when
greetings had been exchanged and the story of the finding of Gene had
been told briefly.
"He'll pull through, I hope and believe," the doctor replied. "He is
sleeping now and since he is so thoroughly exhausted he may sleep for a
long time, but when he has recovered enough to sit up, I'll send over to
the island for you, Rilla, if your grand-dad will permit you to come.
Sometimes pleasant companionship does more than medicine to help young
people to recuperate."
"I'd like to come," Muriel replied almost shyly, and yet eagerly. Then
her hazel eyes were lifted inquiringly. "May I, Grand-dad?"
It was a hard moment for the old man who had been hating city folks for
many years, but he hesitated only a second, then he said: "Lem, I sort o'
feel as all this has been my fault and if yo' think the boy'll get on
even keel quicker if fust mate here is on deck, now and then, yo' can
count on it, Rilly gal will come."
Doctor Winslow held out his hand. "Thanks, Ezra," he said hastily.
"You're more like what you used to be long ago and I'm mighty glad to see
it." Then in an earnest tone, he added: "Gene will take the place to
Muriel of the older brother that every girl in this world ought to have,
some one near her own age to fight her battles, to protect her when the
need arises. That's the sort of a friend Gene will be to your little
girl, Ezra. I'll give you my word on it, because I know him, as I knew
his father before him. A finer man never lived, and like the father is
the son."
When Cap'n Ezra and Muriel were again on the main road, the girl said,
"Grand-dad, bein' as we're in Tunkett, let's go over and s'prise Uncle
Barney."
When Rilla had been a very little girl, at Doctor Winslow's suggestion,
she had adopted that good man as an uncle, but when Captain Barney heard
her prattling "Uncle Lem" he declared that he wasn't going to be left out
of the family circle as far as she was concerned, and from that day the
kindly old Irishman had been proud indeed to be called "Uncle Barney" by
the little maid who was the idol of his heart.
They found the fisherman sitting in the sun in front of his cabin. He was
whittling out a mast for a toy schooner that he was making for Zoeth
Wixon, a little crippled boy who lived in the shack about an eighth of a
mile farther along on the sand dunes.
Captain Barney looked up with a welcoming smile. Indeed his kindly Irish
face fairly beamed when he saw who his visitors were. Rising, he limped
indoors and brought out his one best chair, a wooden rocker with a gay
silk patchwork tidy upon it.
All of the fisherfolk in the neighborhood had put together the Christmas
before and had purchased the gift for the old bachelor, who was always
doing some little thing to add to their good cheer.
"His house is that empty lookin', with nothin' to set on but boxes and
casks," the mother of little Zoeth had said, "an' he's allays whittlin'
suthin' to help pass the time away for my little Zo, or tellin' him yarns
as gives him suthin' to think about fo' days. I'd like to be gettin'
Cap'n Barney a present as would make his place look more homelike."
"So, too, would I," Mrs. Sam Peters had chimed in. "When my ol' man was
laid up for two months las' winter, like's not we would have starved if
it hadn't been for the fine cod that Cap'n Barney left at our door every
day, an' fish bringin' a fancy price then, it bein' none too plenty."
When these women told their plan, it was found that all the families
scattered about on the meadows near the sea had some kindness of Cap'n
Barney's to tell about, and when the donated nickles and dimes and even
quarters were counted, the total sum was sufficient to purchase a rocker
in Mis' Sol Dexter's store. True, it had been broken a little, but Sam
Peters, having once been ship carpenter, soon repaired it until it looked
like new.
As for the patchwork tidy, the little crippled boy himself had been
taught by his mother how to make that. Where to get the pretty silk
pieces had indeed been a problem, for not one of the fishermen's wives
had a bit of silk in her possession. It was then that Mrs. Sol Dexter did
an almost unprecedented thing. She told how, the year before, her store
would have burned up had it not been that "Cap'n Barney," being there at
the time, had leaped right in and had thrown his slicker over the blaze
that had started near where the gasoline was kept. "He knew how it might
explode any minute," she said when recounting the tale, "but he took the
chance." While she talked, Mrs. Sol was actually cutting a piece off the
end of each roll of ribbon that she had in stock, and then she cut off
lace enough to edge the tidy.
Captain Barney had been greatly pleased with the gift, and although he
never sat on it himself, he never ceased admiring the chair and often
wished his old mother in Ireland might have it in her cabin.
The visitors had not been there long, however, when Captain Ezra said,
"Rilly gal, why don't yo' cruise around a spell? Yo'd sort o' like to go
over to Wixon's, wouldn't yo' now, and see Lindy and Zoeth?"
The girl was indeed glad to go, for Lindy Wixon was near her own age. As
soon as she was out of hearing, Captain Barney looked up from his
whittling. "Well, skipper," he inquired, "what's the cargo that yo're
wantin' to unload?"
Cap'n Ezra Bassett puffed on his favorite corncob pipe for several
thoughtful moments before he answered his friend's question. Then,
looking up to be sure that his "gal" was not returning, he uncrossed his
legs and leaned forward.
"Barney, mate," he solemnly announced, "I've writ that letter I tol' you
I was goin' to, some day. I reckon I've put in, shipshape, all I know
about Rilly's father, but I don' want her to have it till arter yo've
buried me out at sea. I cal'late that'll be time enough for Rilly to look
him up. He's like to take better care of her, when I'm gone, than any one
else, bein' as he is her own folks."
Captain Barney bristled. "I dunno as to that," he declared. "'Pears to me
that Lem Winslow or mesilf ought to be her guardeen if yo' go to cruisin'
the unknown sea ahead of us. How'r we to know her own pa cares a tarnal
whoop for her. He hasn't been cruisin' 'round these waters huntin' her
up, has he? Never's been known to navigate this way, sence--sence--" He
paused. Something in the face of his friend caused him to leave his
sentence unfinished. Ezra Bassett arose and looked around both corners of
the shack. All that he saw was a stretch of rolling white sand with here
and there a clump of coarse, wiry grass or a dwarfed plum bush.
Evidently satisfied that there was no one near enough to hear, he
returned and, drawing his old armchair nearer the one occupied by Captain
Barney, he said in a low tone: "I reckon 'twa'n't his fault, so to speak.
I reckon 'twa'n't." Then, noting the surprised expression in the face of
his friend, he continued: "Truth is, he doesn't even know there _is_ a
little gal; fact was, he never did know it." Then he hurried on to
explain. "He'd gone West on business that couldn't wait, 'pears like, an'
my gal reckoned as how that would be a mighty good time to come to Windy
Island and get me to forgive her and him. They was livin' in New York,
but she didn't get farther'n Boston when the little one came. I got a
message to go to her at once. I went, but when I got there the doctor
said as they both had died. _That_ was the message they'd sent on to him,
but; arter all, a miracle happened. The baby showed signs of life
an'--an' what's more, she lived. I tol' the doctor he needn't send
another message to the father. I said as I was the grand-dad, I'd tend to
it and take care of the baby till he came."
While the old man talked, he had been studying a clump of wire grass in
the sand at his feet. Pausing, he cast a quick glance at his listener,
and then, as quickly looked away and out to sea. For the first time in
the many years of their long friendship there was an accusing expression
in the clear blue eyes of the Irishman.
"D'y think yo've acted honest, Ez?" Captain Barney inquired. "Wa'n't it
the same as stealin' his gal?"
At that Captain Ezra flared. "Didn't _he_ steal _my_ gal fust, if it
comes to that? Turn about's fair play, ain't it?"
The old Irishman shook his head. "Dunno as 'tis, Ez," he said slowly. "I
reckon a person's a heap happier doin' the right thing himself, whether
the other fellar does it or not."
Captain Ezra Bassett felt none too comfortable. "Wall," he said, "that's
why I wanted to have this talk with yo'. I got to thinkin' lately of what
would become of Rilly if I should get a sudden call across the bar, as
the meeting-house hymn puts it, without havin' left any word, or made any
provisions; so I reckoned I'd tell yo' as how I've writ that letter. I
put it in the iron box on the shelf way up top o' the tower where I keep
the tools for regulatin' the light."
Captain Barney nodded. He knew the shelf well, for he had often helped
clean the big lamp or aided in some needed adjustment.
"Where'd yo' reckon he is now--Rilla's dad?" he asked after they had
puffed awhile in thoughtful silence.
"Dunno," was the reply. "Never heard sense. I allays suspicioned as how
he might have stayed anchored out West, but I _do_ know where Rilly gal
can go to find out, if need be, an' I've put the address in the letter."
Then the old man rose, looking the picture of rugged health. "Not that
I'm expectin' to start in a hurry on the long v'yage for which no charts
have been made," he said, "but I sort o' got to thinkin' it's well to be
beforehanded, an'----"
He did not finish the sentence, for a breeze, sweeping over the dunes,
brought to them, not only the soft, salt tang of the sea, but also the
notes of a girlish song. Both men turned to see a picture which rejoiced
their hearts. Rilla, swinging her Sunday best hat by its ribbon strings,
was skipping toward them over the hard sand, her long red-brown hair
blowing about her shoulders, her face radiant as she sang.
Captain Ezra beckoned to her. "Yo-ho, Rilly gal!" he called. "It's
mid-morning by the sun and the big lamp's to have a fine polishin' today.
I reckon the storms'll come most any time now and the light needs to be
its brightest then." Turning to Captain Barney, he said in a low voice:
"Keep it dark, mate, 'bout the letter in the box--till I'm gone--then
tell her."
When his two best friends had departed, Captain Barney sat long in front
of his shack. He wondered what was to come of it all, but only the future
could reveal that.